Of Misty Moors and Four Leaf Clovers

Your Inner European is Irish!

Sprited and boisterous! You drink everyone under the table.

Who's Your Inner European?

I've always wanted to go to Ireland and it turns it's because deep inside I AM Irish. Who'da thunkit? Happy St. Patty's everyone!

EDR

India’s Mother Ganga, the great river that is the sub-continent’s lifeline, is considered to be holy by the Indians. Even the annual monsoon rains are heralded by the locals with joy, as it replenishes the country’s water supply, and cools the temperature after the dry, hot summers. Water is also prominent in almost every religion in India, with ritualistic bathing , washing of feet, and drinking of holy water being a central feature of many religious ceremonies.

Given the reverence shown to Paani (Hindi for "water"), it may be surprising to the foreigner who visits India how different the attitude is towards tap water. The locals talk about it like it is arsenic, with a variety of illnesses (everything from Jaundice to Impotence!) being attributed to even the sweet, clear nectar flowing from my kitchen tap. I was never one to believe in the hype so I decided to test it for myself. I mean… it looks so clean!

(Editors note: Do not attempt any thing you see in this blog entry. Failing to adhere to this warning may result in rectal tearing, jaundice, death, or even worse…impotence.)

To begin my experiment, I decided to have a single glass of water:


Bringer of Disease, Death, and Impotence!


Bottoms up!

I sat around for an hour or so, before I felt a familiar rumbling in my belly. I found release in a pleasant and nondescript fart. If you are disgusted by that, please do not be. It smelt as my flatulence has always smelt: like daisies on a spring morning, Not like the putrid, rotting dog corpse stench that you release from your rectal cavity, you filthy, hypocritical assholes.

This bored me. I found myself angry at how all these locals were trying to fool me into being afraid of India. I would not fear the pure, fresh water of my motherland! To prove to myself and to the World that their words were nothing but lies, I filled a large 2 litre bottle with water from the kitchen tap, and guzzled it down over the course of 15 minutes.


I will not fear the holy water of India!

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, and I went to bed with nothing but the occasional pee-break to distract me from my usual routine. My last thought before falling asleep was: What a load of crock. I’m feeling perfectly fine.

I was wrong

In the middle of night, I awoke with a sharp stabbing pain in my belly that forced me to leap out of bed and make a mad dash for the toilet. I barely was able to rest my cheeks upon the inviting mouth of the Porcelein God when the warhead detonated. This was no ordinary case of The Runs my friends… this was Explosive Dire Rear. It felt like the great hand of Toto had shoved me up from my throne and into the air. Half an hour later, I crawled out of the toilet, weak and dehydrated, into my bed where I spent the remainder of the weekend.

Be warned fellow travelers! It is true what they say, India’s water is death in a glass.

Thank God my package still works.

Male Intuition

India's weather continues to delight and entertain.

My housemates and I were lounging about the house, destressing with some beers after a long day at work, when the girls got it into their heads to go down to Sector 14 to get a little shopping done before the shops closed at 2130hrs. As they were getting ready to leave, us guys were lounging around in the living room (men are always dressed to go, women never are) when a very Star Wars-esque moment arose. Jens, our resident German, looked up at us and said:

" I've got a bad feeling about this."
...Search ourselves we did, and feeling the same we were.

So when the girls came out, we casually announced we were staying home. We took their bitching and moaning in our stride and eventually they were forced to leave without us, giving us some quiet time in which we decided to make some pasta.

So picture this: Three guys chilling out in the kitchen, boiling pasta, cutting up onions, smushing tomatoes... when suddenly a strong gust of wind from the south slams all the doors and windows shut one after another. A low whistle grows, virtually inaudible at first, rising in a matter of seconds to a bone-chilling howl. And above all the racket of doors slamming and plastic sheets flapping in the wind, we hear the stacatto beat of clouds of sand battering against our windows. Three seconds later the power goes out (no surprise there) and we stand in the dark with only the light from our stove to see by, as we peered out into the hurricane-like weather.

We were all experiencing our first ever Indian sandstorm.

All of us guys were awed by the sheer display of power by Mother Nature. For 5 mins we remained in silent wonder. And then looking at each other wordlessly, we burst out into peals of laughter. The girls were stuck in the sandstorm!

As we joked and laughed about it, we felt vaguely guilty, but that feeling soon faded and was replaced by a cheerful evilness. It helped of course that about 10 mins later, the skies opened up and it began to pour with rain. Eventually, probably a good half an hour later, one of us decided we ought to be christian and call the girls to see how they were. Fortunately, we had no reception on our cell phones, so not only was our entertainment prolonged, but they couldn't blame us for not calling earlier either.

Hardy and Shweta, our awesome landlords who are too cool for words, came up to our place, helped us get our power back on and offered to go get the girls back. We didn't go along because there wouldn't be enough space in the car for all of us and the girls, but mainly because we didn't want to get wet and it would be funnier for all of us to be chilling back at home when the girls returned.

So an hour an a half later, 2 very wet and muddy girls dragged their sorry asses back through our door to the cheerful refrain of The Stroke's " Why does it always rain on me?", generously sung to them by all three of us wonderful guys.

It feels so good to be so bad.

H2 Zero

So we ran out of water. This is not an uncommon occurance in India during this period; June is the worst month for water and electriciy in India. The warm weather causes the water level to drop dangerously low, causing water shortages all over the country. Electricity cuts are equally common as the hydroelectric dams that power the sub-continent are unable to produce the energy to satisfy India's ever growing electricity requirements.

Apparently, during this period of acute water shortage the clinically insane tenent on the ground floor decided it would be a smashing idea to water her plants. And since we all share the same three water tanks in the house, we ran out of water by Friday night. The stupid bitch.

It could have been worse, though. The 6 of us had about 10 litres of drinking water to last us through the day (sufficient), and 2 buckets of water that we could use to bath or flush the toilet with (insufficient). So in the spirit of conservation I decided to give myself a challenge: The 2 litre shower challenge!

This is no easy feat, my dear friends. If you had a body as generously proportioned as my own, allowing yourself only 2 litres of water to shampoo, shower, brush your teeth and shave is very...VERY difficult.

Nonetheless... Success! hahahaha!

Fun and Games

I have been asked repeatedly how is it I can be having so fun in India. Aren't there any problems?

Well of COURSE there are problems. I mean, come on, it's India. But then again, I'm not really the right person to ask about these things. To me all these little issues like the lack of constant electricity and water, the cows blocking traffic, having to haggle with everybody over everything, and the dirt and grime that covers every surface, aren't so much problems with India as features that gives India some of her character.

Come to India straight-laced with your book of rules and regulations, and an unbending idea of how things should be done, and not only will you have a horrible time while in the country, but India will crush you into dust, smiling all the while

Bhangra!

Maybe some of you have heard of the club hit, Mundian To Bach Ke Rahi? Those of you have should have heard of its creator, Punjabi MC. Well guess what? He was in Delhi this weekend and I went to see him!

Bhangra is by far the best dance music in the world. There’s none of that bloody posing that you find at the usual clubs, no awkward side-to-side shuffling or tentative hip-jiggles from the guys who can’t dance. When its time to Bhangra, everyone gets their hands up in the air and starts to jump around like maniacs. It’s a helluva lot of fun and I highly recommend it to people who just want to cut loose and don’t want to have to worry about what other people think about how you look.

BHANGRA!

Mother Ganga

Last weekend, 10 of us AIESEC Trainees were given a sign that we needed to take a break



and so we decided to head up to the Yoga centre of India, Rishikesh. The journey there was an adventure in itself, and it was something of a miracle that we were able to find our bus to Rishikesh in the chaos that is the Delhi bus and rail terminal.

It was an uncomfortable ride. The bus was hot as hell and the poor suspension was not able to soften the jarring journey along India’s potholed roads. Fortunately I’ve learned to sleep pretty much anywhere since the army, so it wasn’t too bad for me. My companions were pretty exhausted after a sleepless 8 hour bus ride, poor buggers. We arrived bedraggled and dirty at half past five in the morning. Fortunately there was Chai...


God's gift to mankind: Masala Chai.

The autorickshaw to our guest house struggled its way up the winding valley and dropped us in front of an alleyway that led to our home for that week. The New Bandhari Swiss Cottage was a very comfortable little place right with a restaurant that served both meat and alcohol, a rarity in the religious Rishikesh area. And with rooms that start at Rs200 a night it was also dirt cheap, a huge plus for us budget travelers.


Rooms start at 200Rs a night.


Worshipping at the feet of King Ricky-Kesh

As a weekend getaway trip Rishikesh is absolutely perfect. The air was fresh and the temperature significantly lower than Delhi. The almost constant tolling of bells in the distance added to its already very meditative atmosphere. And if you get bored of free Yoga lessons, chilling by the (clean!!) Ganga watching an aarthi, or the Rs250 hour-long massages, you can always go whitewater rafting (Rs650 for a 4-5hr guided trip)!


The Ganga is still clean up in Rishikesh


Whitewater rafting on Ganges!

I’ll say it again for those of you who are still skeptical. India is >fucking< happening!

I am an Indian

Alright so I know that I haven’t blogged in a while. What can I say, I’m in India; I run on IST. But to appease all of you, my faithful (and demanding) readership, I’ve decided to make up for my tardiness with my next two entries. HERE WE GO!

It’s great being an Indian (well half-Indian anyway) in India. Why? Well it’s a helluva lot cheaper for one. I pity all these white people, being harassed by hacks, rick drivers, and shopkeepers wherever they go. After being perpetually quoted prices 4 or 5 times above the prices quoted to Indians, and having to be constantly on the alert lest they be cheated, it’s no wonder why many of my fellow AIESEC Trainees are a little annoyed with their experiences so far. Which is not to say the people here don’t try to cheat me, but just not as often and certainly not so blatantly.

And there are other benefits of looking Indian! Chief among them is being able to pay local rates for all the attractions!

Two weekends ago, my roomies and I decided to venture into Delhi and check out the Red Fort and Chandni Chowk. We walked together to the ticketing booth and as soon as we got within shouting distance a middle-aged sari-clad lady screeched at us.

“FOREIGNERS BUY HERE!!!!”, and she pointed at the booth to the right.

I was bringing up the rear of the group, my usual position while walking with my housemates as their white-ness clears my path of all the beggars who scramble to harass the ang-mohs. As we got closer she saw me following the group. She glared at my stupidity, shouted something in Hindi and pointed to the queue for the Indians!

BOOYAH! I only had to pay 11 rupees while my poor white buddies had to pay Rs110! Haha! Imagine the savings when I go to the Taj Mahal man! Rs25 compared to the Rs750 for all the white people! Mwahahahahaha!

I’m not ashamed to say that the Red Fort looked really good to me that weekend. Hehe.

Here are some pics of that trip, check it out.


The Lohore Gate of the Red Fort


The intricate designs of the interior